"We the willing, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. We have done so much, with so little, for so long, we are now qualified to do anything, with nothing" By Konstantin Josef Jireček, a Czech historian, diplomat and slavist.

Sunday, December 16, 2018 (PW) —- In the early morning of December 16th (according to western conception of night and day), which is the final hours of the night of December 15th (according to African conception of day and night), I woke up from a strange dream . As human beings, we all have dreams, yet we loose details to tangible life issues and challenges; thereby relegating our dreams into oblivion.

But this dream was different and, according to me at least, worth sharing, since it’s about God and suffering women and children in South Sudan. But more so, because, as my close family member with whom I shared it morning told me: “seeing the face of God is one of the great blessings of life” to me and the people I dreamed off. Without further ado, this was my dream, which I immediately put down writing.

I dreamed that I was taking humanitarian aid to the Upper Nile region of South Sudan. I was on a wooden mid-sized boat with a few other people (we were 9 in total on board), moving on the Nile and our mission was to take food items, including Corn Soya Blend (CSB), to malnourished people (women and children in particular) in isolated islands in the wetlands of Upper Nile. It was after sunset and was getting darker and ominous.

As our boat was floating safely, armed vigilante youth who were protecting those islands appeared on the shore and, thinking that we were government soldiers intending to attack them, started spraying us with bullets. The boat was destroyed and all who were with me died of their wounds and drowned. I was the only one who was not shot. I sunk deep down then resurfaced to find a floating piece of wood which was from the boat’s wreckage.

I hang on it and when I looked to the shore I saw two crocodiles plunging into the water with a clear intent to kill and eat me. I knew I had zero chance of survival and, therefore, I looked up to the cloudy sky seeking God’s intervention. The face of God (and his shoulders and folded arms) slowly appeared through moving menacing dark clouds. It was an elderly Black-man’s face with long white beards, mustache, long white dreadlocks, and piercing brown eyes.

He (God) did not show facial expressions but just looked at me with a complete appreciation of my predicament. I knew I was safe. I looked at the crocodiles which were already about two meters into the water and they looked up towards God and he scorned at them with an angry face, they immediately aborted their mission and turned back to shore. I climbed on the long piece of log and tried to shove it against the current, wanting to move it towards Juba (where we started the journey); and knowing that going up the Nile was taking me deeper into rebel territory.

It was very difficult to move against the strong Nile currents. I did not move an inch, my arms got very tired, and the current started to take me against my wish. I looked up and God was there looking at me, with no facial expressions; but I knew my wish was answered. The piece of log started moving against the water current with almost no effort from me, just shoving mechanically.

I looked at the shore and saw the rebels looking at me but not seeing me. I was invisible to them. They just saw a piece of log moving against the water current and looked bemused. They almost opened fire at me but did not or could not pull the trigger. As I lay on the log which was floating with ease, I asked God in my heart to push the food that was on our boat to the intended people in those islands.

I knew my last wish was going to be. As the face of God started disappearing into the dark clouds, I woke up and prayed.

N.B. Before I went to bed, and because it was December 15th, the day our country was callously plunged into the abyss, I prayed for peace and life to return to South Sudan. Of late, I have also been sharing with some friends about our greatness as Africans and how our history has been written by colonialists, instead of by us. We even talked of God and I shared about how, as Nilots, we knew him as a monolithic spiritual being. The Dinka called Him Nhyalic pronounced Nyalich (meaning the One above), way before we were introduced to Christianity and Islam. I have also been thinking about the suffering women and children in those isolated islands of refuge in Upper Nile. As they say, our minds create dreams according to what preoccupy them. I hope our God interferes to save our people from the untold suffering they have been going through for ages.